


Take the Long Way Home

by rizlowwritessortof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7273597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizlowwritessortof/pseuds/rizlowwritessortof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Dean and Rusty's relationship, in the present and through their memories. Flashbacks/memories are in italics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rusty angrily backhanded a tear from her face as she gathered her belongings methodically. Stacks of underwear on the right, jeans on the left, t-shirts in the middle. A box for her laptop, ipod, books and bathroom supplies was full to overflowing, a trash bag with a few pillows and blankets was tied shut next to that.

She shoved a hand through her chin-length mahogany locks, but the soft curls bounced back into place, as much as they ever were. She bit her lip, looking around the room, trying to tamp down her emotions enough to think straight, to remember if she'd left anything anywhere in the bunker. When she cleared out, she wanted everything gone, no 'Oops, I forgot this, sorry to bother you guys' to make this even more awkward.

Sam went striding by, a cursory glance in her door as he passed, then stopped and backpedaled to the doorway. "Whoa. Where are you... Rusty, what's going on?"

She continued rolling her clothes, stuffing them into the large duffle on the bed in front of her. "Hey, Sam."

"Dude... I mean... Hey, what happened?"

"Nothing happened, Sam. Just time to move on." She resolutely avoided looking at him as she packed, but he finally put a hand on her shoulder, turning her firmly towards him.

"Bullshit. What happened, Rusty?" He looked down at her, that kind, concerned look in his eyes that she could only bear to look at for a second before looking back down at the tops of her boots.

"I can't stay here any more, Sam. I need to be... not here."

"What does that mean? Why?"

"I can't."

He huffed out an impatient breath. "The hell you can't. Talk to me, Red. Did something happen? With Dean?"

"No." She pulled away from Sam's gentle grip and continued to shove her clothes into her duffle. "And if you don't mind helping me load up - I'd like to be out of here before he gets back."

The thought of dealing with Dean asking her these questions, demanding answers, made her nauseous, and she felt a little surge of something dangerously close to panic as she finished cramming the last of her things in the bag, zipping it shut and heaving it onto her shoulder. Sam was still standing there, staring with that frown between his brows, debating further argument. So she grabbed the trash bag, then tried to lift the box, but Sam finally sighed and grabbed both from her.

"Fine. If you've gotta go, I'll help you load up. But I don't understand why you can't talk to me, Rusty."

"I just can't. I... Not right now, okay, Sammy?"

He heaved another unhappy breath, then nodded, following her out her door and all the way to the garage where her Charger sat, trunk open. He placed his burdens inside, then stood, arms folded, as she put the duffle in and closed the trunk. "Were you even gonna say goodbye?" he asked softly, and Rusty sniffed, struggling to maintain her composure, before stepping closer to put her arms around his waist.

"Goodbye, Sam," she managed, then broke, just a little, as his arms came around her for a bear hug. She only allowed a couple of minutes, then pulled away with a deep breath, wiping her rebellious tears as she opened the car door and climbed in.

"Rusty..."

"Goodbye, Sam," she choked out again, looking into his confused face, her caramel-colored eyes swimming with tears. Then she started the car, hitting the door opener before tossing it to Sam, who caught it, surprised, on reflex. He watched, completely at a loss, as she backed out and turned onto the gravel leading away from the bunker. After staring after her for a moment or two, he hit the remote and watched numbly as the door closed with a soft thud.

His phone rang as he walked back into the library, his brain occupied with trying to remember anything that could have caused this sudden departure. It was Dean calling, and he guessed now was as good a time as any for him to know that she was gone. He wasn't going to be happy.

Dean slammed the door as he entered the bunker, and Sam braced himself for the coming storm. "What the hell, Sam?" he bellowed as he walked in, and Sam leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

"I don't know, Dean. She wouldn't talk about it."

"Why the fuck did you let her leave?"

Sam's eyes rolled as he rose to his feet. "Come on, Dean. She's a grown woman. Short of locking her in the dungeon, how do you think I was going to stop her?" Dean was standing, his hands on his hips, his back to Sam, his head hanging low. "Dean... Was there... Did something happen between you two?"

Dean flashed a glare his direction, his mouth tight, as he strode to the liquor cabinet. "No. There was nothing going on. We haven't had a fight, we haven't done anything different than we always do. You?" He lifted an eyebrow as he asked, looking at his younger brother as he took a gulp of his whiskey.

"No. Nothing. She just... she just said it was time for her to move on. So I'm just as much in the dark as you are."

"Son of a bitch. I'm calling her."

"Dean..." Sam started, but he thought better of it, blowing out a tense breath and going back to his seat. She wasn't going to answer, anyway.

Dean paced as he listened to her phone ring and her voice mail kick in. 'Rusty. You know what to do.' "Hey, Rusty. What's up with ditching us, huh?" He tried like hell to make it sound like he was joking, but it'd be obvious even to a total stranger listening that he was two ticks short of an explosion. He stopped for a moment, letting his emotions back off a little. "Listen, when you put in somewhere for the night, call. We need to talk, okay?" He hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket, taking another generous drink of hunter's helper before stalking from the room, Sam's eyes on his back as he left.

He walked down the hall, pausing at the doorway to her room. It was empty, only the sheets on the bed, and he approached it, dropping down slowly to sit on the edge of the mattress. Had he done something? He was racking his brain, trying to remember anything that might have caused her to take off. "What the hell, Rusty?" he whispered, his mind flying back to the first time he'd seen her.

_John Winchester's broad shoulders were enough to fill the small gun and ammo shop's room, but with Dean's set following right behind, the place seemed positively crowded. The shaggy-headed young man behind the register straightened a little. John's presence demanded respect, even before he uttered his name. "John Winchester. Is your dad around, son?"_

_Bryce Tillman even stuttered a little as he answered. "N-no, sir. He's out of town right now. Can I help you?"_

_John rubbed a hand over his liberally stubbled face, the gray overpowering the black these days. "He was making some special-order ammo for me. Do you know..."_

_"Oh! Yes, sir! I know he got that order ready before he left." He turned his head, bellowing loud enough to make Dean turn from the guns he was admiring and to make John wince a little. "Rusty! Get out here!"_

_"Why don't you bite me, Bryce..." her voice tapered off into embarrassed silence as she walked out into the store from the back, and the color brightened in her cheeks. Dean's chin came up a little, a smile curving his lips as he saw the girl. Red hair - not the bright, glaring kind, but a rich, dark red, curls and waves tumbling over each other as she brushed a lock behind her ear. Dean moved slowly towards his father, shoving his hands in his pockets as he observed her a little more. Her eyes... brown, but not just brown - a dark caramel with gold flecks that made them shine and sparkle, like life was just bursting from inside her, and lush dark lashes framing them. A few freckles were sprinkled over her nose, just a little more noticeable than his, and those lips... they looked soft, and lush, and damn, he wanted to taste them. If his dad wasn't standing two feet away, he'd have been letting loose with the charm and angling to stay in town an extra night. Then she spoke, and the slightly husky tone of her voice warmed him right the hell up. "I'm sorry, sir. I just thought my brother was trying to annoy me - again."_

_Bryce frowned angrily at her, then smiled at John again. "Rusty will get that order for you, sir. It's in the back."_

_"Dean, go with her in case she needs help," John ordered - his voice was soft, but it was an order, and it sounded like one. Dean nodded, inwardly grinning as he followed her into the back room, admiring the view on the way. She looked damn good in those jeans, that was for sure._

_He followed her between a set of shelves that ran floor to ceiling, clear to the back of the room. She stopped about halfway down, looking up. "I'll have to get the stepladder," she muttered, but Dean had stepped up behind her, reaching over her to grab the box clearly labeled 'Winchester.' "It's okay, I got it," he said, enjoying the whiff he got of her shampoo, or perfume, whatever it was. When he stepped back, box in hand, he grinned down at her. She was a tiny thing, barely reached his shoulder, and she blushed a little at his smile even as she answered it a little shyly._

_"Thanks." She headed back the way they'd come, but Dean plucked at her sleeve to slow her down a little._

_"So, you're - Rusty?"_

_"Yeah. Raylene, actually, but I hate it. I've always been Rusty, ever since I can remember. The curse of red hair, I guess. And my initials."_

_"Your initials?"_

_"Yeah. Raylene Simone Tillman. RST."_

_"Awesome." Dean followed her out to the shop, bringing the box around to the cash register. "Do we need any .45 or shotgun shells, Dad?"_

_"Yeah. Grab a couple boxes of each, while we're here." Dean glanced at Rusty, and she reached beneath the counter, producing the ammo with another smile in Dean's direction._

_He took them, bending quickly to whisper, "How old are you, Rusty?" Her eyes sparkled a little as she looked up from under her lashes at him._

_"Twenty-two," she whispered back, then smiled, flashing a dimple in her left cheek before turning to go back to the storeroom._

_John watched as Dean brought the extra ammo to him, then handed cash over to Bryce as he totaled their purchases. "You know we're not staying, right?" John asked, his eyes shining with humor even though the smile never reached his lips._

_"Yeah, I know. But you never know when we might run out of bullets." Dean grinned at his father, and John's lips curved slightly as he shook his head, accepting the bag with their merchandise and following Dean to the door._

_"Tell your dad I appreciate it," he called over his shoulder, and then they left, leaving the room feeling very much emptier._

Rusty signed her name on the credit card slip, then slid it back towards the clerk, who finally managed to pull his eyes from her breasts long enough to retrieve it. "Thank you, Miss Tillman," he said, and she barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes at his attempt at being smooth. "Enjoy your stay. And please let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

She flashed him a tight, insincere smile as she took her receipt and the key, and turned to leave. She moved the car around the building and parked, opened the trunk and reached for her duffle, then changed her mind and unzipped it, rifling through to grab only what she needed for the night and morning. It was only a one-night stop, so no need to settle in.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she closed her door behind her, leaning back against the cool, smooth wood for a moment. Then she tossed her clothes on the bed, grabbed her toiletries and headed in for a shower. She stripped down while the water temperature evened out, and stepped in, letting the spray pound against her neck and shoulders, which were aching with the tension of driving and the tension of leaving. Leaving the bunker, which had been her home for the last several months now. Leaving Sam, who had become one of her best friends. Leaving Dean, who...

The pain hit her in a wave, and the dam that she had fought to keep up throughout the endless day dissolved in tears. She sobbed until her head was aching and her throat was like sandpaper, and finally managed to pull herself back together to get cleaned up before the water was completely icy.

She dressed in her usual nightwear, a pair of soft cotton pajama pants and a worn old t-shirt, then grabbed a beer out of the six-pack she'd purchased at the gas station. She climbed up onto the bed, settling back against a pile of pillows, taking a pull from the bottle and reaching for the remote. Her phone light was flashing, and she closed her eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths before picking it up. She dialed the voice mail and tried to steel herself, but his voice washed over her like a tidal wave. "Hey, Rusty. What's up with ditching us, huh?" He sounded angry, trying to sound not-angry, and there was a little pause there, as if he were collecting himself - then, "Listen, when you put in somewhere for the night, call. We need to talk, okay?"

God, even the sound of his voice shook her to her foundation. How was she supposed to call him back? How was she going to explain her reasons for leaving when she could barely articulate them to herself, barely admit them to herself?

She took a huge swig from her beer, her emotions battering at her from inside. "Call him." "Just run, don't look back." "Why didn't you just fucking tell him how you feel?"

"Shut up!" she said out loud, and set her beer down with a thud. "Damn it!" She let her head drop back against the wall, feeling like her insides were being twisted and tied into knots. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself drift back to that night - the night she took a step into the wilderness that she had never been able to escape.


	2. Chapter 2

_She turned her head at the throaty sound of that engine, slowing and then idling at the curb behind her as she finished locking up. She felt all jumpy inside, but she showed him nothing but cool as she turned around to face him. "You stalking me?" she asked, and he grinned. The kind of grin that almost took a girl's legs out from under her._

_"Stalking? Nah. Just - we didn't think we'd be staying around, but Dad had some more business come up, so we're here for one more night. Thought maybe you'd like to grab a burger? A beer?"_

_She eyed him skeptically. "A quickie in the back seat of your daddy's car?"_

_The cocky shit grinned again. "Hey, I never like to limit my options." She ducked her head a little, trying without success to smother the smile creeping onto her face._

_"Wow, you are unbelievable."_

_"I've been told."_

_She was smiling for real now, looking into those green - amazing, unreal green - eyes, lashes at least as long as hers, and that mouth of his... She pulled her eyes back to meet his, and shook her head. "I'm sure I'll live to regret this, but - let's go get a burger and a beer."_

_They did, and it was fun. He made her laugh, just really relax, and - he was a nice guy. Naughty, but nice. And before the night was over, they were in the back seat of his daddy's car, and those sinful lips of his had her coming twice before he even had his belt unbuckled. It was cramped, and sweaty, and there was some giggling at trying to get things arranged, but - holy shit, when they did get arranged..._

_He had her leg up on the back of the seat, her head cushioned with his jacket as she laid propped up against the passenger side back door, and she'd never know how he managed to fold himself in what space was left, but he did, and still managed to have moves that took her breath away. And he was some kind of genius about a woman's body, because he hit every damn hot spot she had and found a couple that she hadn't known existed._

_And then - and this was the part that killed her - he just kept holding her, and running his hands over her, and kissing her like she was the only thing that mattered in this world to him. He treated her like she was cherished._

And that was when it started. That was the beginning of the desperate longing for someone or something that could make her feel that way. Problem was, it was just - how he was. Not how he felt. Or it was, maybe. Maybe it was real for him, for that piece of time.

Rusty forced herself to open her eyes, to look down at her phone, to press the button to return Dean's call. She took another long pull from her beer as it rang, blowing out a breath and swallowing hard when he answered.

"Rusty? Damn it, where'd you run off to?"

"Haven't decided yet. What's up?" She fought to keep her voice from shaking as she spoke, tried to sound nonchalant as if there was nothing going on. Just another hunter taking off on their own, no big deal, nothing to see here...

"What's up?" She could picture the look on Dean's face, a mixture of confusion, anger and hurt. "What do you mean, 'what's up?' Are you serious, Red? Come on, why'd you take off? Did I do something? Did Sam do something? Talk to me!"

"Dean, I've been there for months. The walls were starting to close in. It was just time, that's all."

"Bullshit. Something must be going on, Rusty. We were just getting into a groove around here. Why would you take off and not even say goodbye?"

That hurt was bleeding through a little more, even over the phone, and she was feeling awful. But telling him the truth? That wasn't even on the table. She couldn't stand the... the pity, or awkward joking about it, or - her greatest fear, absolute rejection. Dean Winchester didn't want any ties, no 'relationship' issues, he had said it a million times. Hunters couldn't have relationships. They could have partners, friends, but even that was pushing their luck. Everyone he and Sam had ever been with - things had gone south. Either hunting had come between them, or they were put in danger, hurt or killed because they were involved with one of the Winchesters. And he and Sam talked about it all the time. Keep it light. You feel an urge? Get some. But you get some, and you get out. No strings, no attachments.

"Dean, I just knew it was time. And I knew you'd argue with me. You love to argue with me, you know." She tried to insert a humorous tone into her voice, but she knew it wasn't very convincing.

There was nothing but silence on the other end for a few seconds, and when he spoke again, it was soft and sincere. "Come on back, Rusty. Let's sit down and talk it out. Whatever's bugging you, we could figure it out." When there was nothing but dead air on her end, he continued, and it smarted. "I'm not begging you, Red. If that's how you really feel, well - I guess you gotta do what you gotta do."

She took a shaky breath before responding. "I need to do this, Dean. I hope you understand."

She heard his deep breath, and then the finality in his tone as he answered. "Yeah. Well, take care of yourself, Red. Call if you get yourself in a bind. We'll see you around."

She realized after several seconds that she was listening to a dial tone, and he was gone. 'I'm not begging you, Red.' Of course he wasn't. He didn't feel the same way she did, and that was the whole reason she had needed to leave in the first place. So she had done the right thing. She needed to break away, for her own sanity and peace of mind - both of which seemed very far away at the moment.

Dean sat staring into nothing for quite some time after ending his call to Rusty, thoughts chasing themselves through his brain one right after the other. 'We must have done something.' 'Fine - she wants to go, let her go. We were fine before she was here, we'll be fine now.' 'I just wanted to talk to her. Why won't she talk to me?' 'Fuck this - I'm getting drunk.' The last one, he listened to, shoving his phone into his pocket and grabbing his jacket from the chair by the bed. "Sammy, going into town. You coming?" At Sam's negative response, he shouted once more, "Okay. Don't wait up." Sam pressed his lips together, staring after the sound of his brother's retreating footsteps.

Dean hit the bar with two hours until closing time, and he didn't waste a second. He was pouring shots down, one after the other, the bartender familiar enough with him that he didn't argue, just kept them coming as ordered.

A local named Darla was watching from the end of the bar, practically licking her lips at the prospect of bagging this one. She had watched him before, but he usually wasn't like this. Tonight he was - reckless. Tonight she might actually have a shot.

She slid off her bar stool and sidled up to him, slipping a hand into his back pocket. "Hey, cowboy. Buy a girl a drink?" Dean glanced over at the contact, tossing his shot back and slamming the glass down.

"Not interested," he said, his voice low and humorless, and she ignored him.

"Awww, c'mon, handsome. You look like you need..."

Dean turned to face her, effectively removing her hand from his ass. "I said, not interested." His eyes narrowed at her, and she backed away slowly, an ugly sneer distorting her features.

"Fine. Go fuck yourself, then, stud." She whirled around and stalked back to her seat, grabbing her things and trouncing out of the bar.

The bartender held up the bottle, a question in his eyes, and Dean shook his head. He picked up his last shot, tilting his head as he swallowed it down, then walked over to the pool table, grabbing a cue from the wall. As he racked up the balls, he berated himself for chasing off the only chance he had at getting laid that night. Yeah, she was sleazy, slept with every willing male in the area. But at least it would have been a release of some of the tension he was feeling. And he wouldn't have to worry about getting too attached, that's for damn sure. But he was getting more - selective, for lack of a better word, these days. A blur of rich, soft russet hair, tawny eyes and soft, full lips flashed through his mind, and he clenched his jaw, shooting to break and sending the balls flying around the table with the violence of his stroke. "Son of a bitch," he growled under his breath, and shoved his thoughts under the pile of other crap labeled 'Do not think about,' focusing his energy totally on clearing the table.

He hauled his ass out to the Impala after closing, deciding he'd crash in the car for a few hours, even though his buzz felt completely gone. Drunk, yes. Stupid, no. If he was gonna get shit-faced, he wasn't gonna risk getting anyone else hurt over it. Troy didn't mind if he left his car there for a few hours, or overnight.

He wriggled himself into a semi-comfortable position in the back seat, arms folded over his chest, his legs sprawled as far as there was room, and closed his eyes. And his 'Do not think about' sign failed him, just like it did every fucking night of his life. So he stopped fighting it, and let himself go back. Back to the night that had changed Rusty's life forever.

_"Vamps? We're sure that's what we're dealing with?" Sam asked as Dean pulled into town, slowing as he passed street signs, squinting to read them in the quick flash of light from Baby's headlights._

_"Sounded like it. I think Randy Tillman knows what he's talking about. I mean, he's been working with hunters for years, Sam."_

_"Yeah, true. What street are we looking for?"_

_It didn't take too long to track down the Tillman's address, and Dean drove up the long lane, pulling up in front of the house, shutting off the engine and the lights before glancing over at his brother. "Wonder if his daughter is still around."_

_Sam rolled his eyes, smiling. "Of course you know his daughter."_

_Dean grinned, his eyebrows going up and down suggestively. "In the Biblical sense, Sammy. In the Biblical sense. But it's been a few years."_

_They headed towards the house, freezing halfway up the sidewalk as a piercing scream split the night. With one glance at each other and a couple of hand signals, they moved silently closer, Sam running around to the back as Dean crept up to the front entrance. He gave Sam a few minutes, then reached for the door. The handle turned freely, and he swung it slowly inward, slipping quietly into the house, gun drawn, adrenaline pumping through his system. He heard a scuffle, then a muffled sob, from the next room, and he reached down, touching the machete strapped to his leg, before moving on._

_The room was dark, only the glow from the kitchen filtering in to dimly light the grisly sight of Randy and his son, Bryce, lying like broken dolls on the floor. As he drew closer, he could see the damage to their bodies, their throats torn out, their eyes glassy and staring._

_Another sound jerked his attention away from those he was too late to help, and he moved further into the room. There was a stairway through one door, and through the near doorway, a bedroom. He heard another scream, obviously smothered behind a hand, and was relieved to catch a glimpse of Sam in his peripheral vision. He motioned in the direction of the bedroom, and they both moved silently forward, suddenly bursting into the room together._

_Rusty was trussed up on the bed, a woman sitting near her, her fingers tangled in Rusty's curls. Two men flanked her on either side, one standing, one sitting beside her, his hand resting on her waist, his body bent down towards her. Rusty wriggled, trying to pull herself free from the grip the woman had on her hair, and her eyes widened as the Winchesters entered, her struggles intensifying in renewed hope of rescue._

_"I'm sorry. Did the party start at eight? Our invitation said nine, didn't it, Sam?" The woman stood up snarling at Dean's taunt, and he tucked his gun into the back of his jeans, pulling his machete free from its sheath. "You know, you should really see a dentist about that little..." He made a motion near his mouth, his face distorted with disgust, and Sam smiled as he armed himself with his machete as well._

_"Fucking hunters. You all think you're so smart," she snapped back at them, her fangs glinting sharp and dangerous, and Dean smirked in return. The male vampire on the far side of the bed charged at Sam, and his severed head hit the floor with a thud before Sam moved into position to back up_ _his brother._

_The female shrieked with rage, leaping at Dean, who dodged beneath and whirled to face her again. "Bring it on, bitch," he growled, and swung with everything he had to send her head flying as her body landed at his feet. The woman's head landed on the bed, and Rusty screamed, kicking at it and sending it to the floor._

_The remaining male came at Sam, who ducked at the last moment, letting Dean swing free and relieve the last vamp of his head. He stood up, pushing the body aside with his foot, watching as Dean approached the bed. "Think that was all of 'em?" he asked as Dean helped Rusty to a sitting position, murmuring, "Hold still," as he sliced through the ropes surrounding her wrists and ankles. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him, and Dean pulled her close, looking back at Sam._

_"I don't know. We should probably stick around for a day or so, check it out." Rusty raised her head suddenly, her eyes wide and frightened, and scrambled to climb off the bed. "Whoa," Dean said, holding her back as she fought to be free. "Calm down, Rusty. Just calm down."_

_"Dad! And Bryce! I have to see if they're okay!"_

_"No. Rusty, look at me." Dean held her by the shoulders, looking steadily down at her until she raised her tear-filled eyes. "They're gone. We came as fast as we could. But we were too late."_

_"No!" She balled up her fists and beat them against his chest, but he still held her. "No, no, no!" She was screaming the words, over and over, pummeling him with her fists until she just sagged against him, sobbing, and he gathered her into his arms._

_"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry."_


	3. Chapter 3

Rusty packed up at the motel and stopped at a little diner for breakfast before hitting the road again. She was angling her way north, not really sure where she was going, not really caring. As long as it was a pleasant little town where she could find a job. And was far away from Kansas. Nebraska wasn't nearly far enough.

She left Thedford in her rear view mirror, letting herself relax into the drive, the open road and quiet countryside a soothing balm to the turmoil inside. She let her mind wander, and it honed right in to where her heart aimed it – Dean.

* * *

_She had no idea how long she sat there, wrapped in Dean's arms, after she had finally stopped sobbing. It could have been minutes, hours, days… she was so numb with grief that she didn't really care. It was like she could barely feel him holding her, like she wasn't really there – like if he let go, she might just dissipate into the air and no longer hold a physical form._

_He must have felt her go limp, stop caring if she even existed, because he pulled back from her and put a hand to her face. "Rusty? Stay with me, sweetheart. Come on, look at me." Her apathy was so heavy, but she finally drug her eyes up to meet his. He looked so worried. "Hey," he said quietly, a soft little smile on his lips as he tucked a stray curl behind her ear, "we're gonna get you out of here, okay? But I need to talk to you about something."_

_She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus, and Dean brushed his thumb over her cheek as he smiled. "Talk about what?" she managed to rasp out, and Dean pulled his arm from behind her back to take hold of her hand. From the corner of her eye, she could see Sam in the doorway, watching quietly._

" _We have to come up with a story for the cops. Maybe that you came home and found your Dad and Bryce. We can say we were with you, if you like, but we're kinda… well, it's better if we're off the radar. We're um… wanted for a few things, in a few states…" He trailed off, and Rusty took another breath, squaring her shoulders as she straightened up and looked him in the eye._

" _What about these… things?" She gestured with her head towards the body in her line of sight, laying just beyond the bed._

" _We'll get rid of the vamps. And clean up in here. But we'll have to leave your Dad and…"_

" _Yeah. I know." She felt anger begin to well up within her, and a strange strength flowing from that emotion. "What will you do with them? The – the vamps?" She looked into Dean's eyes again, and she saw the flash of understanding in their depths._

" _We'll pile them up in the woods and torch the fuckers."_

_Dean stood, allowing her to swing her legs down from the bed and move to her feet. "Good. I want to watch. And now I want to see my family."_

All those years ago, and the pain of seeing her father and her brother lying in that room – it still caused her to stop breathing for a moment. She didn't know how she would have survived it without Dean and Sam. She still remembered the heat of the hate burning inside her, almost a match for the heat of the flames that consumed those monsters' bodies. She still remembered Dean handing her his Zippo, letting her start the fire, Sam and Dean each taking one of her hands in theirs as they stood watching. Those memories were clear, sharp. The rest of it – talking to the police, the funerals, putting the shop and house up for sale – that was a blur. And they had stayed. They had camped out at a local motel, getting her a room so that she didn't have to stay at the house, being there for her when she was emotionally and physically exhausted at the end of each day. And after a week of forcing herself to do what had to be done – she had knocked on their door…

_Dean opened the door, the room behind him dark, his eyes squinting in a little frown as he tried to wake up. "Rusty, you okay?"_

_She looked up at him, a surge of pure need washing through her, followed quickly by a twinge of guilt and shame. "Can… can you come to my room?" she whispered, not wanting to wake Sam._

_His eyes traveled over her face, then looked into hers as he nodded. "Yeah, let me – um – put on some pants." He turned to walk to a nearby chair, grabbing the jeans draped over the back, and she watched as he put them on and pulled his t-shirt over his head. He came back to the door, pulling it quietly closed behind him, and taking her hand as she led him down the sidewalk to her door._

_She pulled him inside, then turned towards him, her arms around his neck, and kissed him. He backed up, pulling her with him, closing the door and locking it, then turning to put her back against it. She was kissing him almost desperately, and he let her have control, his hands slipping beneath the hem of her shirt and resting at her waist. She finally stopped, both of them breathing hard, anguish on her face as she looked up at him. "Dean… I want… I need…" There were tears in her eyes as she continued, "I want you. I'm a horrible person, I can't believe I…"_

_Dean kissed her softly, then rested his forehead against hers. "No, you're not. You're going through hell, and you need some comfort. There's nothing wrong with that. Whatever you need from me, Rusty. I'm right here."_

" _I don't want to think any more. I don't want to have those awful memories running through my mind. I want to forget for a while. I just want…"_

_Dean kissed her again, his mouth slanting across hers, his tongue gliding over her lips, then delving inside as he pulled her_ _close_ _. She could feel him hard against her hip, and she stretched up on tiptoe to grind against him, swallowing his groaning sigh. His hands moved down, over her hips and the curve of her ass, gripping to lift her up, her legs wrapping around him as he pinned her against the door, shoving his erection hard against her core and forcing a whimper from her throat._

_He turned towards the bed, carrying her as if she were nothing, settling her there and hovering over her. "I've dreamed about you, about touching you again, about those little noises you make…" he murmured, and then he was nuzzling at her neck, nipping and licking and sucking marks into the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder, one hand caressing the skin of her belly and drifting up to her breast. His fingers traced patterns over the soft curves, then cupped her, gently squeezing, a soft hum vibrating against her as her nipple hardened in his palm._

_Dean looked up as she closed her fingers around a handful of his hair, tugging his head upwards, her hips bucking up under him. "Dean. I need you," she kissed him, hard, nipping at his bottom lip, "inside me," another nip and another tug to his hair, "now."_

_His eyes glowed with heat as he answered her nips with one of his own, drawing his fingers together on her breast towards her nipple and tugging at it. "Yes, ma'am," he growled softly, dropping another kiss at the corner of her lips as he climbed off the bed and stripped. She followed suit, letting him finish pulling her pants and panties from her legs as she tossed her shirt over his head to the floor. "Condom?" he asked as he paused for a second._

" _Birth control. You're clean, right?"_

" _As a whistle." He moved back over her, sucking a nipple briefly into his mouth, reveling in the little cry it elicited from her, and then his fingers were caressing her folds, sliding through the slick warmth before he pressed forward. She moaned beneath him as he slowly filled her, giving her body time to adjust to his girth, feeling like eons passed before he settled, fully buried in her, waiting for her signal that she was ready for more._

_After a moment or two, he felt her squeeze around him, and then her hips moved, a slight rotation that had his eyes almost rolling back into his head. "Dean…" she whispered, a desperate edge to her voice, and he scooped one arm under her knee before drawing back and forward once, gently. Then he pulled back and drove into her, hard, and she cried out, her other leg tight around his waist as she met every thrust, gasping at the impact and craving more. He slammed into her over and over, until she had no coherent thought left, only the connection between them, the slap of their bodies as they came together, the smooth slide of h_ _im within her_ _, the sound of his harsh breathing, his whispered curses and her name falling from his lips as he gave her what she so badly needed._

_She came hard with a strangled scream in her throat, clamping down around him so violently that he joined her. She shuddered underneath him for what seemed like an eternity, aftershocks shooting through them both,_ _until she_ _finally quiet_ _ed_ _beneath him, still softly whimpering. When Dean was able to lift his head, he kissed her gently, first her lips, then over her face, tasting the salt of her tears as he kissed her lashes, slowly lowering her leg, his hand running up the length of her thigh to rest at her waist._

_He finally moved from her, a shiver running through her as he pulled out, and he rolled to his back beside her. He slipped an arm beneath her shoulders, pulling her halfway on top of him, her thigh over his, her head on his chest, and he reached to cover them both. He felt her tears on his skin, but didn't speak, offering wordless comfort through the strength of his embrace, the gentle caress of his fingertips, the touch of his lips in her hair, until she sighed, falling into an exhausted sleep._

"Sammy! Making a beer run. Do we need anything else?" Dean's voice carried into the library where Sam sat, brow furrowed, scrolling through info from a suspicious killing in Iowa.

"Ummm… yeah! Grab me some apples, would ya?"

"Apples. Right. Catch you later." Dean's long-legged stride carried him through the garage, his hand stuffed into his pocket to retrieve the keys. He climbed behind the wheel, putting the key in the ignition, and then his eyes fell on the empty space where Rusty always parked her Charger. He sighed, impatient with himself, his jaw clenching and a troubled frown bunching between his brows. "Damn it, Red," he muttered, letting his head drop back against the headrest.

* * *

_Dean woke the next morning, Rusty still wrapped around him and over him like a blanket, his arms tingling with lack of blood flow. He moved them slowly, flexing his hands to revive them as he looked down at her. A child-like little sigh fell from her lips, and he smiled softly. He shifted a little so he could see her face, which was almost completely obscured by her curls, and he brought one hand up to sweep them back, tucking them behind her ear._

" _You're gonna be okay, you know," he murmured as he looked down at her. "You're strong. You got through this week like a champ."_

_Rusty moved a little, took a deep breath, and her lashes fluttered as her eyes slowly opened, looking up at him, a soft smile curving her lips. "Hi," she whispered, and leaned into his touch as he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand._

" _Hey." He leaned in and kissed her, gently moving his lips against hers, lingering there for a moment before moving back again. "You doing okay?"_

_She stretched languidly, then moved from him to lie on her back, pulling the sheet to cover herself. "I'm… I'm okay. Better than I thought I'd be." She turned her head to look at him as he moved to his side next to her. "Thank you for staying, Dean. I'm not sure I could have handled this last week without you and Sam here."_

" _That's what friends are for." Dean's voice was husky from sleep, and she felt a warmth wash over her at the sound. What was it about this man that he could just – be – and it affected her so strongly?_

" _Sam's probably wondering where you are."_

_A soft little chuckle rumbled from Dean's throat. "I'm sure he figured it out." He moved a little closer, putting an arm over her waist and kissing her shoulder, his tongue touching her skin briefly before he moved back a bit and looked at her. "Sammy and I – we're gonna have to take off soon."_

" _Yeah, I figured. Places to go, people to save, right?" She smiled, a pensive little smile, and Dean leaned in to kiss her lips._

" _So… I was wondering if you'd be interested in a replay. Like, slow motion replay. Just so I can have something to think about until I see you again."_

" _You think we'll see each other again?" She was looking into his eyes, a quiet pleading there that she couldn't – wouldn't – put into words._

" _I hope so, Rusty. I really hope so," Dean replied, then pulled her close, his hand on her breast as he kissed her, and she turned to face him, her fingers gliding over the smooth muscled expanse of his back as she lost herself in him again._


	4. Chapter 4

Dean sighed heavily as he shouldered his way through the door, dropping his duffle beside the door and not slowing his stride as Sam entered close on his heels. "Just let it go, Sammy," he growled, marching straight into the kitchen and to the fridge, the beer in his hand half gone by the time Sam entered the room.

"Dean, just admit it. You miss her. Being around you lately is like hanging out with a grizzly... with a toothache. You're a pain in the ass."

"I'm a pain in the ass? At least I don't nag you 24-7 about some imaginary 'feelings.' Come on, Sam, you said it yourself. She's a grown woman. She felt like she needed to move on. She did. End of story."

"Right. End of story." Sam grabbed a beer and glared Dean's direction. "The two of you, you're perfect for each other. You could both spend years being miserable and pretending everything is all normal. You're both champs at running away. Well, congrats, I guess you're both getting what you want." He stalked from the room, flipping his beer cap behind him and letting it bounce on the floor. A few seconds later, Dean heard his brother's door slam, and he blew out a frustrated breath, downing the last of his beer and hooking another before heading to his own room.

He closed his door behind him, setting his beer down on the bedside table and stripping down to his boxer briefs and t-shirt. He stood there, staring at nothing, until he realized that what he was really doing was thinking about Rusty's face, the way she crinkled her nose when she laughed, the sparkle in her eyes, the way she roughly shoved her curls out of her face only to have them stubbornly go right back where they had been a moment later.

He cursed under his breath, opening his beer and taking several swallows before yanking the covers back on the bed and crawling in. Fuck it, he couldn't fight it. He let himself remember that morning, the way he'd uncovered her slowly and memorized little details about her body. The dainty constellation of freckles just below and to the right of her navel, the cluster of tiny lacy hearts tattooed at the base of her neck, the scar under her chin from a childhood bike accident... god, he had kissed his way over her skin, making a map in his mind. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell her, could still hear the soft, sweet sounds she made, the whispers of his name, the whimpers and sighs and moans he had coaxed from her... He let his hand wander, palming his erection roughly through his boxers, almost angry at himself at allowing his thoughts of her to affect him. Then he gave in, pushing the constricting material out of his way and throwing back the covers, reliving the experience in his mind until he came with a shudder from the touch of his own hand and the memories he was fighting to bury.

* * *

Rusty pulled into the parking lot, eying the 'Help Wanted – Manager' sign on the Sweet Dreams Inn office window. It was a step up from the usual completely disgusting dumps she had stayed at during hunts, but still small and quaint enough that they might not do a huge amount of background checking and prying into her past.

Whitefish, Montana, population 6,600 or so, beautiful little ski town in winter, Glacier National Park, the river and the lake nearby – small town life with a lot of incoming tourists to keep business going, and make life interesting. Enough to keep her busy, but not so much that she couldn't take off once in a while and hike a mountain trail or sit by the lake. Eventually. Right now, she wanted busy. Right now, she didn't really want a lot of time to think. Because when she did, it was always Dean invading her thoughts.

She walked into the office and smiled at the woman behind the counter. "Hi, I'm Rusty Tillman. I'm interested in the manager job you have posted. And I'd like a room."

A couple of hours later she was carrying her stuff into her room, application and interview done, fairly confident that she had found a job. Mrs. Braverman promised to call her as soon as they made a decision, within a couple of days, but she had hugged her warmly and welcomed her to Whitefish. They had chatted comfortably together, and the motel owner had been impressed with Rusty's former experience running her dad's gun shop. She tried to hold down the optimistic little lift to her spirits, trying to wait for confirmation that she had actually been hired, but she was feeling fairly hopeful as she got ready for bed, an unusual feeling the last few days. She settled in, turning on the TV and smiling as she dozed off, making plans to explore the little town the next day as she waited to hear if she'd be staying.

* * *

Sam glanced up at his brother's face, then looked back at the laptop screen. "Hey."

"Hey. Find a job?" Dean asked, his morning scowl easing a little with his first sip of coffee.

"Nah. But we just got home. To be honest, I haven't been looking too hard." Sam leaned back in his chair, watching as Dean joined him at the table. "Actually, I was wondering if we should take a little break. I'd like to spend a little time in the library, work some more on cataloging and stuff. And you could, I don't know, do some fishing, or binge watch Netflix. I think we could both use some down time. In the last few weeks we've hunted, what… a vamp nest, a couple vengeful spirits, a skinwalker, and that pain-in-the-ass coven. I'm tired. I need a few, and so do you."

Dean was quiet for a few moments, finally speaking when he stood up to go for a refill. He held up the pot with a questioning raise of his eyebrow, and Sam nodded, setting his cup down. "Yeah, you're right. I could use a break. I was thinking about heading up to Rufus' cabin, do some fishing, sit on the deck and have a beer or six. You could come if you want, up to you." He topped off Sam's cup and put the pot back, taking a seat again.

Sam smiled as he rubbed the back of his neck, then looked up at his older brother. "Honestly, Dean – I think you could use a little alone time. And I'd like to dig in here a little bit, if you don't mind. Besides, you don't want me nagging you the whole time, right?"

Dean huffed a little laugh, a crooked smile on his face. "Ain't that the fuckin' truth. Nah, you're right, probably been getting on each others' nerves a little lately." When he continued, his voice was quiet, thoughtful. "Rusty kind of acted as a buffer sometimes, when things got..." He trailed off, taking a drink of his coffee as Sam nodded.

"Yeah. I miss her too, Dean."

Within the hour Dean was packed and on the road, fishing gear in the trunk. He cranked the music and sang along for a while, the open highway and the sound of Baby's engine soothing his tired soul. After a long eight hours, minus the short break at a greasy spoon truck stop for a burger, he pulled into a little Wyoming town, and registered at the lone motel there, a nondescript little beige room in a beige building in a beige town. Not really in the mood to deal with small town locals at one of the two bars on main street, he grabbed a six-pack and a bottle of Jack from the convenience store and settled in for the night in his room.

He fired off a text to Sam, telling him where he was, and then his thumb brushed automatically across the screen, pulling up Rusty's number, as it had every night since she'd left Kansas. They hadn't heard a word from her, not since the phone call the night she took off. And every night he thought about contacting her, just a 'Hey, how's it going?' or 'Just checking to make sure you're okay,' but he always talked himself out of it. He gnawed on his lip a little, staring at her picture, a shot he'd taken of her laughing at something. He sighed and closed the screen, settling with his back against the headboard, tipping his beer to get a mouthful of the cold brew. Yeah, he missed her. Just the normal, everyday conversation, the laughing at stupid movies together, the discussion on research, the friendship. Because that's what he had told himself they had, ever since… Well, ever since Sheridan. He leaned his head back against the pillow he'd shoved behind his head, thinking back, the noise of the TV fading, the sting of her revelation still fresh in his mind.

* * *

" _Yeah, Rusty, of course. Yeah, we'll head that way. At least we'll check it out, okay? It'll be good to see you, too. We'll call when we get there." Dean walked into the room as Sam finished the phone call, one brow quirked inquisitively._

" _Is she in trouble?"_

" _Well, not her, but she knows the people. She's living in Sheridan, Wyoming, now. Sounds like there might be a haunting going on, she doesn't know a lot about it, but a friend of hers works for this historical museum and they've had some freaky incidents. Kind of brushed it off, but last night someone died. She's afraid it might be escalating."_

" _Let's go check it out."_

_Sam grinned. "Yeah, I figured you'd be all 'hit the road, ask questions later.' You've always had a soft spot for her."_

_Dean smirked. "Soft is not the word that comes to mind when I think of Rusty, Sammy."_

" _You're such a horndog, Dean."_

_Dean's smile grew bigger, then he headed into the bathroom, the door closing behind him as he responded. "Bitch."_

" _Jerk." Sam shook his head, still smiling, as he started grabbing his clothes, scattered over the motel room floor and draped over chairs._

_It took several hours to get there, and it was late when they pulled into the little motel on the outskirts of Sheridan. They checked in, fired off a message to Rusty, then pulled out the laptop, checking local history for the museum she had called about before calling it a night._

_A soft knock on the door woke Dean the next morning, and he stretched, his eyes squinting to focus on the clock. He could hear the shower, and called out, "Yeah, just a minute," before pulling back the blankets and slipping his jeans on, not bothering to fasten them up. He opened the door a little, one hand on the door jamb, then smiled lazily as his eyes met Rusty's tawny gaze. "Hey," he drawled, his voice still rough and sleepy, and he was gratified to see the color rise in her cheeks a little as she smiled back, her eyes quickly scanning over his bare torso, moving quickly from where his morning bulge strained against his boxers, his open fly not doing much to hide it._

" _Hi. Can I – uh – come in?" He opened the door wider, still hanging onto it, and she ducked beneath his arm to enter the room. "Where's Sam?"_

" _Shower." He closed the door, then turned to send another dazzling grin her way. "Sam, we have company. Don't come out naked," he called out to his brother, then zipped his jeans. "Sorry, you kinda woke me up."_

" _I can see that." She looked at him silently for a few seconds, then a soft smile curved her lips. "How are you, Dean?"_

" _Okay. Same old thing, you know? What are you doing in Sheridan?"_

" _Working in an office, doing books – not very exciting." The conversation was interrupted by Sam exiting the bathroom, and after some small talk, Dean headed in to the shower as Rusty filled Sam in on their local ghost. Within the hour they were headed down the street behind her SUV, doing a drive-by of the formerly impressive mansion that now served as the historical museum._

_She filled them in over some take-out breakfast and coffee back at their room, and between that and the history they had read up on, it sounded like a typical salt-and-burn. They chatted for a bit, and then Sam broke a slightly awkward silence by standing and announcing that he was heading to the local library for some research. "You guys can hang out, catch up. I'll call if I find anything important." He shot Dean a look over Rusty's head, a little smile that said, 'You're welcome,' and then he was gone._

_She stood up, smiling a little nervously. "I really should go, too. I..." Dean was in front of her before she could draw another breath, his lips on hers, and she resisted for only a few seconds before her arms went around his neck, her soft moan driving any thought of restraint from his mind. Before they knew what had happened, they were on the bed, clothing discarded, limbs tangled, Dean's mouth on her breasts as her fingers slipped through his hair._

" _Dean..." she whispered, stopping to cry out softly as he sucked hard on a sensitive nipple before moving down her body, his hands splaying her legs wide. His tongue made gentle little circles around her entrance, then delved into her, and he let out a decadent groan as he licked up to her clit, flicking it softly before giving it a little kiss, the tiniest bit of suction as he pulled up to look at her. "Damn, I forgot how sweet you taste," he said, his voice like honey and smoke, and then he dived in as if his life's ambition was to worship her with his lips, his tongue, his teeth. Every moan from his mouth sent shudders of pleasure through her, and she came almost instantly, her body quaking. He kept right on going, sending her almost immediately into another orgasm, her hands pulling at his hair, unsure of whether she should push him away or hold him there tighter still. He eased up then, gentling her through and then slipping a finger inside, stroking at her slowly as he kissed his way back up the length of her body. By the time he reached her lips, he was adding a second finger, and her hips were pushing against him, her head rolled back on the pillow as he kissed her throat, nibbling at her pulse point before claiming her lips again._

_He kissed her until they were both nearly breathless, then reached for the bedside table for the condom he had laid there. He ripped it open with his teeth, sheathing himself and pulling his fingers from her, coating himself with her slick before nudging at her entrance. "You ready, baby?" he asked between kisses, and taking her whimper as a yes, he pushed steadily in to his limit, holding still for a moment as their tongues tangled sweetly together, his fingers plucking and rolling her nipple._

_As soon as he started to move, his control was gone. She was clinging to him, meeting his every thrust, her nails digging into his back, her core gripping and rippling around him, and he threw his head back, braced on his elbows as he drove into her with everything he had. She came apart beneath him, thrashing wildly as he growled, feeling his cock pulse seemingly without end, pleasure so intense it made his vision fade for a moment._

_It took him a few minutes to move, and even then he didn't want to. He laid on his side next to her, pulling her close, kissing her, his thumb caressing her face, which was wet with tears. He backed away a little, kissing her forehead, then her lips, and whispered, "Did I hurt you? Is there something wrong?"_

_A soft sob forced its way from her throat as she nodded slowly. "I should have told you. I shouldn't have stayed."_

_He propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at her as she covered her face, still crying. "Should have told me what? Rusty, whatever it is..."_

_She rolled over and sat up at the edge of the bed, finally blurting out the words. "Dean... I'm married."_


	5. Chapter 5

_Dean's mouth dropped open as he stared at Rusty's back, her head bowed as she continued to cry softly. "What?"_

" _I know. I should have told you." She stood up, not even bothering to cover herself as she frantically gathered her clothes and began dressing._

" _Do you think? Like, when we first got here, maybe?" He stood up, snatching his jeans from the floor and yanking them on, his back to her. Then he turned, glaring her direction, his mouth tight with anger. "So I just screwed some poor schmuck's wife. Awesome."_

" _Don't say it like that, Dean!" Rusty whirled to face him, her face wet with tears. "Don't..."_

" _Don't what? That's what happened, Rusty! I just fucked a married woman. He'd have every right to come after me. I fucking would. What the hell! Why didn't you stop me? Why didn't you tell me before..."_

" _I don't know, okay?" She shouted back, staring into Dean's angry face, her eyes wide and tortured. "I don't know." She turned her back again, her arms wrapped around her waist, her voice almost inaudible as she continued. "I meant to. I really did. I meant to leave. But you kissed me, and all I wanted was…" She turned to face him again, guilt and anguish on her face. "I didn't want you to stop. I haven't seen you in years, and being with you is still the thing I dream about. Are you happy now? Is that pathetic enough for you?"_

_He watched as she almost ran for the door, leaving it open as she rushed out, and he didn't move until he heard the sound of her car starting. Then he finally walked to the door, swinging it slowly shut as she pulled out of the parking lot._

* * *

Dean opened his eyes and grabbed the beer from the nightstand, emptying it and tossing the bottle to the trash. He could still remember the way he felt that night – hurt, betrayed… Unjustifiable, but that was how he had felt. They hadn't seen each other for years. She'd been on his mind, more than he had ever wanted to admit to himself, but apparently it wasn't mutual. She had tried to move on, make a life for herself, nothing wrong with that. But it had still felt like betrayal, and the fact that he had absolutely no right to feel that way hadn't made it any easier.

And now, since she had left the bunker, he was going through the same damn thing. He hadn't given her any reason to stay, hadn't held out any hope that there was anything between them but friendship. The vague, nagging ache in his chest didn't make any sense, but it was there, nonetheless.

* * *

Rusty's day passed by fairly quickly as she acclimated to her role. There were a few customers, a couple of issues that required calling maintenance, and one of the housekeeping staff quit, which meant placing an ad for a replacement. She acquainted herself with the bookkeeping system on the ancient computer, and at 8 pm, she locked up the back office and turned to her empty apartment. This was the hard part.

She turned on the television, confident after testing the buzzer at the front desk that she'd be notified if someone came in and rang. A cold beer and cardboard pizza from the freezer accompanied her on the sofa as she channel-surfed for a while, finally landing on an old action/adventure movie, the title escaping her. But it didn't matter, her mind wasn't on the plot anyway. She sighed softly, taking out her phone and pulling up Sam's number. She hadn't contacted him yet, it was probably time to let him know she was settled in somewhere and was okay. She fired off a text, 'Hey, Sam, just letting you know I landed a job, all settled in, started today. Doing okay. We'll talk later.'

He answered within a few minutes, 'Glad you're okay, Red - thanks for letting me know. I'm here when you're ready.'

She smiled sadly. Sam had been a rock the last few years. After that day, the confrontation with Dean – she'd been such a mess. She had ignored Sam's call late that night, but he had sent her a message when she hadn't answered asking her to call him when she was ready to talk. And she had finally, after a couple of days, called him back and told him everything. Told him about her marriage, her feelings about Dean, her determination to make things work with Brian and her. And from that time on, she and Sam had stayed in touch, talking via cell or online on a fairly regular basis – and it seemed a little strange at first, but they had become really close. Which was why, when things finally fell apart, he had been the one she called.

* * *

" _Sam?" Her voice was trembling, but she was trying like hell to keep from breaking down._

" _Hey, Rusty – how are you?"_

" _Sam – I'm a mess." Her voice broke a little, and the tears began._

" _Hey, hey… what's going on, Red? Are you okay?"_

" _Sam, Brian… he left me."_

" _Oh, man… I'm sorry. I know how badly you wanted it to work. So now what? What can I do?"_

" _Sam, I feel like such a loser." She was crying now, really crying, and Sam let her have the time she needed to pull herself together a little._

" _You're not a loser, Rusty."_

" _I feel like I screwed up Brian's life just because I was trying to force myself into a normal life, you know? He was good to me, and he loved me, and I thought it'd be enough. That I'd learn to love him in time. It wasn't fair to him, and I made him waste years of his life with someone who just couldn't be who he needed. I'm a horrible person, Sam!"_

" _Bullshit. Stop it, right now. Listen to me – you did everything you could to try and make things work with Brian." She couldn't answer, had no more words, and the silence hung between them for a few seconds before Sam spoke again. "Listen – I'm gonna come and get you. What you need is some down time, just to hang out and work through stuff. You can stay with us at the bunker – the place I told you about, remember? It's kind of home base for us now, and there's a shit-ton of space here. You can take some time and just – be with friends."_

" _Right. Dean won't want me there, Sam. I haven't talked to him since..."_

" _Rusty, Dean's done some changing the last few years, too. Trust me. We've all been through some hell, and he'll be happy to see you. You don't have to worry about him."_

" _He hates me."_

" _No. That's not true. He has never hated you, Rusty. Never." Sam sighed, and when he continued, his voice carried authority. "Listen. You pack up. I'm heading to Sheridan to pick you up. No arguments."_

" _What about my car?"_

" _Don't worry about it. Just pack. We'll take care of it."_

" _Sam..."_

" _Rusty. Pack. We're leaving today, we'll be there in a couple of days. I'll let you know when we get close."_

_She did as he asked, packed up her personal belongings, leaving household stuff and furnishings alone. She didn't want them, anyway. They were just reminders of her failure. She called Brian, told him she was leaving in a couple of days and that he could do whatever he wanted with the house and everything in it, she'd sign whatever she needed to. She'd contact him with an address when she got settled. And when the Impala rumbled into the driveway, she had a duffle bag, a box, and a trash bag sitting next to the sofa._

_The knock at the door made her heart pound for a minute, but she finally took a breath and went to open it. Sam stood there, that sympathetic smile on his face, and he enveloped her in a huge hug, his arms completely wrapped around her. When she stepped back, smiling tearfully up at him, he moved around her into the house, and there, right in front of her, stood Dean. It took her breath away for a split second, her eyes drinking him in. His edges were harder, his face leaner, the lines around his eyes a little deeper as he smiled, but it was still - Dean. And then he pulled her into his arms and held her, one big hand cradling her head against his chest as she let out a tiny, soft sob. "Hey, Rusty. It's gonna be okay, sweetheart."_

_She got them all a beer when they got inside, and they sat down for a bit as they drank. "That's not all you're taking, is it?" Sam asked softly, nodding towards her small pile._

" _Yes. That's it. That's all I came with, that's all I'm leaving with." Her voice was soft, but with a thread of steel that stopped Sam's argument before it even left his lips. He just nodded silently, and she added, "Well, that and my Charger."_

" _Well, yeah," Dean drawled. "You didn't think I came all the way up here just to see you, did you? I'm driving that beast to Kansas." He grinned at her, and she couldn't help smiling back. "If that's okay, that is."_

" _Of course, you can drive it. As long as you return the favor someday, and let me drive the Impala."_

_He huffed out a little laugh, a crooked smile on his face as he narrowed his eyes at her. "Maybe when you grow up."_

_They finally hit the road, Dean behind the wheel of her car, her legs tucked up beneath her_ _in Baby's passenger seat with Sam driving. He kept her entertained with some hunting stories, and told her to go ahead and sleep when her eyelids started drooping. There hadn't been much sleep for her lately, and soon she was curled up against the door, Sam's jacket behind her head, fast asleep as they sped down the highway._

* * *

Dean smiled a little as he pulled into the drive leading to Rufus Turner's cabin. It had been – what, three? Four years? - since he'd been there. Visions of sitting on the deck with a cold brew or on the bank of the little lake that was walking distance away flitted through his mind as he pulled up and parked. It looked a little overgrown, which didn't surprise him, and that would let him work off some steam. Sometimes working up a sweat with good old physical labor, the kind that had nothing to do with monsters or demons or hunting, was the best catharsis you could ask for.

He slung his duffle over his shoulder and headed for the door, his footsteps hollow on the plank porch. He shoved a hand into his pocket for the key, and let himself in, but his happy expectations crumbled slowly around his ears as he looked around the room.

A raccoon came scrambling towards him and out the door as he turned his head to see it disappear into the trees. He closed his eyes for a moment before turning back to peruse the damaged interior of the cabin. One whole corner of the ceiling in the main room was sagging about a foot into the cabin, and there was water damage and vegetation running rampant. This was gonna take some money, and a lot of elbow grease, to fix. "Son of a bitch," he said softly, letting his duffle slide from his shoulder as he lowered it to the floor. He walked slowly through the rest of the place, looking for more damage. The bedroom seemed intact, the door had kept creatures out. The kitchen was torn up from wildlife being into the cupboards, but the roof seemed okay on that portion of the building, anyway. He walked through the door to the deck, stepping carefully just in case, but it seemed okay. First things first, he needed to see if there was still a ladder in the storage shed, and see what kind of building materials were here. This didn't look like much of a vacation, but – maybe it was just what he needed.

"Sammy? Yeah, just got to the cabin. You wouldn't believe it, man." He rubbed his eyes as he talked to his brother, then looked up at the collapsed corner of the roof. "The north corner of the roof is just hanging there. Don't know what happened, but the main room is trashed. I'm just gonna head out for a ladder to see what things look like up there. Yeah, yeah, grandma, I'll be careful. Yeah, I'll let you know how bad it is once I look everything over. Nah, don't change your plans. If I need some help, I'll yell. Yeah, later." He hung up and headed outside to the shed, sighing.

He sat out on the deck a couple of hours later, his feet up on the rail as he tipped back a longneck, letting the cold brew slide down his throat. The roof needed to be replaced, and so did the north half of the ceiling in the main room. At least the chimney was okay, and didn't seem to be blocked, but the satellite dish was screwed, so that needed replacing. He had hauled the couch, a couple of overstuffed chairs, the coffee table, television and several other smaller pieces outside, planning a bonfire at some point to get rid of the water-damaged and mildewed furnishings. The electricity seemed to be okay, luckily, and the fireplace was functional. "I guess that's what happens when you just assume something's always gonna be there, but you don't do any maintenance," he muttered under his breath, almost hearing the words in his dad's voice, which made him smile a little. Then the smile faded as his mind changed gears on him, became that accusatory nagging presence that said, 'Just like Rusty, right, Dean?' He took another swallow, his jaw working as he resolutely set his eyes on the slowly setting sun.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean spent half of the next morning out in the ramshackle garage, looking for tools and tinkering with Rufus' beat-up old pickup. Finally, after fiddling with the engine and charging the battery, it cranked over, sending a plume of black smoke out its tailpipe before settling down and running, albeit not completely smoothly. "You just need to blow the cobwebs out, old girl," Dean muttered in approval, closing the hood and climbing inside.

He backed out of the garage, checking the gas gauge before heading out the drive towards Whitefish. The Gas 'n Sip was his first stop, filling the truck and gas can, then on to the lumber yard. When he drove back towards the cabin, the bed of the truck was filled with shingles, wood and tools to repair the roof, and drywall to fix the damage inside.

First things first, though – he hauled the mower out of the garage, cleaning, filling and sharpening the blades, and set to work on the yard. It took a good three hours, sometimes taking his machete to cut through weeds with stalks like small trees, but when he was finished he was sweat-soaked and weary, and the sense of accomplishment felt good.

After a shower, he pulled on a pair of sweats and moved to the deck with a beer, so cold it had a few ice crystals in it when he took his first drink. He heaved a satisfied sigh as he put his feet up on the smooth old log that served as a foot stool, leaning back in his chair and letting himself relax from his hard labor. He absently wiped a cold drop of condensation from where it had dripped on his bare chest, his hand even rougher than usual after the day's work. How long had it been since softer hands had touched him? He stared out across the yard, the mountains in the distance, his thoughts wandering back to Rusty. Her hands… she had such a gentle touch when she was stitching up a wound, or bandaging cracked ribs. And once the job was done, she always put her hand over the freshly mended hurt, looking up into his eyes and asking, "Does that feel okay? Need some pain pills?" And she always looked down again with that shy smile when he said 'thank you.'

Then they let her come along. Not one of his brighter moments. But he thought she'd be okay waiting in the motel, and that it would be good to have her close by in case they needed her to patch them up. Not that he and Sam couldn't do it, they'd done it for years, but she definitely was better at it, he and Sam agreed on that point.

He should have known better, though. They were hunting demons, and after all the years of hunting, he should have know they'd go after anyone close to them. His fingers rubbed absently over the scar on his left side, just over his ribs. It still ached sometimes, a grim reminder of that night.

* * *

" _Dean, are you sure?" Sam wasn't arguing, just playing devil's advocate, he knew, but it still irritated him._

" _Yeah, Sam, I'm sure. We're not taking her out with us, she'll just be in the motel room. She's been going a little stir-crazy, I promised her she could come along next time. And if we have trouble, she'll be right there to patch us up. I don't know about you, but I'd rather have her stitching me back together than your big paws."_

" _Hey, believe me, I'd rather have her than you any day, your bedside manner sucks, dude." Dean snorted as Sam grinned crookedly, zipping his duffle closed._

_Sam had to admit, the trip was more lighthearted with Rusty along. She sang along with the music, made them both play silly car games - "Cop car, that's 3 points, and 2 more for the horses in that field, I totally schooled you guys" - "I can't find an 'x' anywhere, can we skip it?" - "Going on a hunting trip, and I'm taking ammunition," that one got a little r-rated before they were done - and they felt ridiculous and actually had some fun for a change. When they reached their destination, they got a room with 2 beds and a couch, and Rusty stretched out on the old sofa, claiming it as her own._

" _You don't have to take the couch, Red," Sam argued, and she laughed at him._

" _Yeah, like you'd fit on here! And neither would you, Dean, don't look at me like that. I'm comfy, and you wouldn't be, so that's that."_

_They all went out to a local bar and grill that night, ordered burgers and one too many beers, and went back to their room tipsy and in good humor. Sam shouted 'dibs on the shower,' and left them before they could even argue. Rusty wandered around the room, trailing her fingers over surfaces, peeking out the window, and Dean leaned back on the bed on his elbows, buzzed and lazy, his eyes following her every move._

_He sat up as she walked by, grabbing her hand, and she looked down at him, startled._ _"_ _Hey, Rusty. C'mere." He was just barely on the good side of being wasted, feeling warm and friendly, and all he could think about was how good it would feel to get his fingers in that hair, her body warm and willing against his as he kissed her._

_She didn't pull away, but she hesitated for a moment before perching on the very edge of the bed, her heart racing. "What?"_

_His fingers were tracing random patterns over the back of her hand, and then he turned it over and lifted it to his lips. She felt something inside her melt as he kissed, then touched his tongue to her palm before lowering it back to his lap. His face was moving closer, her eyes were drifting shut, she was caught in his magnetic pull, and then she straightened and shook her head slightly, feeling as if she'd just pulled out of a free fall. "Dean, I don't think this is a good idea. We're – we both had a lot to drink. Just… probably not a good idea." She pulled her hand from his and stood up, moving to the couch, and he stared after her, his lips still parted, his mind still absorbing the fact that she was gone._

" _Yeah. Probably right." His words were clipped, terse, and he stood to take off his button down shirt, turning to dig through his duffle. Sam came out of the bathroom in his boxers, pulling his t-shirt on over his still-damp torso._

" _Next," he said, and Dean grabbed his stuff and went inside, not saying a word to anyone. Sam looked at Rusty, a hint of confusion in his eyes, but she looked at the floor and began pulling things from her bag, avoiding the inevitable questions. She was the one who stopped it, so why was she feeling hurt? Because he gave up so easily? Because he agreed with her? She clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut tight, ignoring the sting of unshed tears._

_Dean was in a mood the next day, which wasn't a good thing for the demon they captured to interrogate. At one point, Sam pulled him away and outside the door, his face taut with concern. "What the hell is going on with you? Take it easy! We do need intel from this asshat, okay?" Dean jerked his shoulder from his brother's grasp, heaving an impatient sigh._

" _Yeah, you're right, Sammy. Just take over for a while, I need some air." He walked out into the back yard of the dilapidated old house they were using, plopping down on the stairs of the deck overlooking the overgrown patch of weeds that used to be a lawn. He hadn't looked at Rusty once since the night before, the feeling of rejection unreasonable but still present. Her marriage with Brian was history, but she was still shying away from him, and he knew he needed to accept that it was for the best. She didn't need his albatross ass hanging around her neck. The trail of bodies and broken lives he'd left behind him should have taught him long ago that he wasn't meant for anything but anonymous hookups, one-nighters that nobody got too attached to, quick fumbles in bar bathrooms. Rusty should have something better, someone better._

_By the time he made his way back inside, Sam had the information they were looking for, and was finishing the exorcism. They dropped the guy off at the emergency room entrance, he wasn't too bad, thanks to Sam, and had his 'I got mugged and beat up' story ready for the ER staff, actually thanking them for setting him free. Sam had taken the guy's phone, took a picture of his tattoo, and said, "Get one of these, keeps 'em out."_

_They drove back to the motel in silence, parking in front of their room, and Dean growled out a curse as he saw the open door. "Fuck." They were out of the car, blades drawn, and inside in a heartbeat, Dean's stomach twisting as he took in the destruction. Rusty was sprawled over the bed, her clothes torn and bloodied, her face cut and bruised, one eye swollen shut, and her assailant turned to face them, his eyes black._

" _You mess with one of ours, we mess with one of yours. Only seems fair." Dean let out a murderous roar as he charged the demon, rage taking his reason with it, and Sam's shouted warning came too late as a searing agony in his side dropped him to his knees as the demon's weapon_ _found its mark._

" _Dean!" Sam opened up his stance, demon blade in hand, his face contorted with fury as the creature came at him. Somehow in the ensuing scuffle, the demon ducked beneath his reach and was through the door and gone. One look at his brother's face, grey and beaded with cold sweat, told him that there wasn't time for pursuit._

_He went to his knees beside Dean, ripping off his outer shirt and folding it to hold over the wound, which was bleeding profusely. "Sammy..." he mumbled, and Sam grabbed him by the shoulder as he began to slump._

" _Dean! You have to help me, man. Help me get you to the car, so I can get Rusty. We need to get you two to a hospital." He stood up, moving to the bed where Rusty was laying, unconscious._

" _Sam… Is she alive?"_

" _Yeah, she's alive. Fuck." Sam straightened from bending over Rusty, checking for her pulse, and turned to the task of getting Dean to his feet. "Come on, dude, we gotta move. Just hold that tight, you're bleeding like crazy."_

_He managed to help Dean get to the car, lowering him as carefully as he could into the passenger seat, and then ran into the room, lifting Rusty's limp form in his arms and laying her in the back. He sped to the hospital, wondering randomly if their possession victim was still inside._

_He ran in through the emergency entrance, calling for help, and soon people in scrubs were hauling them both into the ER, rapid firing vitals and orders back and forth as they were wheeled into treatment rooms. A nurse with a clipboard stopped Sam as he headed into Dean's room, shaking her head. "Nope. Sorry, you'll have to wait outside. What happened here?"_

" _My brother… He and his friend got mugged. Are they gonna be okay?"_

" _Let us do our jobs, honey, and we'll let you know as soon as they're stabilized, okay?" she said, briskly but not unkindly, and Sam stood helplessly by as the doors to both rooms closed._

_And that was that, the first and last time Rusty came along on a hunt. They were all locked down in the bunker for a few weeks while she and Dean recovered from their injuries and Rusty's surgery to repair a ruptured spleen and a punctured lung from a broken rib._

_Sam traipsed back and forth between the two of them, caring for them until they could take care of themselves. Once they were both up and about, he hoped the tension would break, but it never did. Dean would barely stay in the same room as Rusty, and she hardly spoke at all unless he asked her a direct question. Eventually they worked their way up to polite stranger status, and Sam gritted his teeth with frustration, but let it be. He could tell Dean was distancing himself from her, probably out of guilt, and there was nothing he could say that would fix that._

* * *

Dean drained his beer and got up to grab another, settling back into his chair. Yeah, poor Sam had to put up with a lot through that whole ordeal. But Dean knew – he _knew_ – that it was for the best. Rusty would be safer if he kept things distant. Eventually their relationship became a little more friendly, a little more comfortable, but he never let that little spark between them become anything more than a reason to leave the room or go on a supply run or go hunting, anything to ignore that little surge of heat that occasionally reared its ugly, insistent head. She was safer this way. She was better off this way. He had convinced himself of that, and he was determined to stick to his own stubborn, narrow view.

And now she was gone, and they didn't even know where. And even though it hurt – yeah, he had to admit it hurt that she wasn't there any more – even then, he knew she was better off. Maybe she'd find some guy that she could really have a life with.

Maybe. But that thought made him feel sick. Yeah, he missed her. Because even if he had held himself distant from her, he was still with her. He could still see her, hear her, speak to her, and now... now she was just gone. And he felt hollow.


	7. Chapter 7

Rusty rubbed the back of her neck, finally standing to stretch after a long, frustrating bookkeeping session. After three solid hours of checking and rechecking, running figures over and over again until they began to blur, she discovered a transposed number, and now everything balanced.

Mid-week was slow, and she was already there later than usual, so she proceeded to lock up the office, heading for her apartment in the back of the building. She turned on the TV right away, not wanting to hear the smothering silence, and then headed to the kitchen to make some eggs.

She ate, staring at the TV screen, not that she'd recall what was on it later. The show that was playing, some home-remodeling thing, had sent her back to the bunker. Every fucking thing lately sent her back there. She set her plate on the small coffee table and let her head drop back, let her eyes close, let herself think about it. What was the point of fighting it, anyway?

* * *

_Things had been uncomfortable ever since they had come home from the hospital. She couldn't move around too much yet, and Dean wasn't back to 100% either, so they just silently shuffled around, shifting their positions to avoid the area the other one occupied. It was verging on ridiculous, and she was frustrated with the whole thing. So she settled herself on the couch in their common room, feet up on the table in front of her, blanket over her legs, and turned on the television._

_During the day, on the weekend, there was nothing on but sports, old movies or home-improvement shows. She found a remodeling show, one where the host didn't make her want to murder someone, and sighed semi-contentedly._

" _Seriously? That's the best thing you can find to watch?" She rolled her eyes at Dean's bitchy tone, sighing._

" _You weren't here, I thought I could watch what I wanted. If it bothers you, go sit in your room," she snapped, turning the volume a bit higher._

" _Tired of sitting in my room," he grumbled, plopping down on the other end of the couch. "What is this, anyway?"_

_At least he was speaking to her. That was something new, at least lately. "Just – they look at this crap house, and they talk the people into buying it, and they redo it and spring it on them like Christmas."_

_He grunted in reply, popping the top from a beer and guzzling a bit as he settled in._

_Sam came in from his run, stopping dead in his tracks as he heard voices. No way they were in the same room, let alone actually talking to each other… But he heard it, Dean saying, "That's disgusting, nobody in their right mind would buy that shit pile!" and Rusty making a gagging noise, laughing, "There are dead animal carcasses in the living room. Oh, my God." And a few seconds later, they both laughed, trading comments about the hot pink paint in the bedroom in between giggles._

_Sam moved closer, standing in the doorway to watch. "Wow," he said softly, and they both turned their heads to look at him._

" _What?" Rusty and Dean spoke together, and Sam smiled a little._

" _Nothing. Just – it's been a while since you two have been in the same room without ending up in a fight or leaving without speaking to each other. And I just heard you both laughing. Just thought I should check, make sure you didn't overdose on meds or something."_

" _Ha ha. Funny, Sam," Dean snarked, and Sam grinned._

" _Maybe we just didn't feel like talking. We were both hurt pretty bad, you know." Rusty's voice was full of sass, and Sam just smiled bigger._

" _Yeah. Whatever, guys. But it's about time. I'm going into town to pick up some pizza, what kind do you want?"_

* * *

Things between her and Dean had been better after that. Better, but still – arm's length. Any time she had started to feel that surge of electricity between them, she'd look up and he'd suddenly just be gone. And then she'd hear the Impala fire up, or he'd come in and announce some hunt they needed to go on… She had wanted to say, 'Hey, I got the message. You don't want anything more than surface friendly. No longing looks, no tingling body parts, no heart-stopping moments. I got it, loud and clear.' But she'd just kept the hurt, the unrelenting, merciless longing for him, bottled up. Hidden, so it wouldn't spook him like a wild animal. As much as it had hurt to have him around, it was worse when he was gone, when she knew he had left because of her.

The next day was her day off, and she gladly slept in. It had been 3 AM the last time she had looked at the clock, after initially dozing off and dreaming of him, his hands touching her skin, his head between her thighs, his tongue driving her mad… Try going back to sleep after that, after crashing down from almost… almost… and then realizing it wasn't real. Would. Never. Be. Real. She couldn't even bring herself to finish the job, mentally dousing herself in ice water and telling herself to face reality. Then she cried for a while, a long while, and finally slept again, gratefully remembering that the part-time person would be handling things the next morning.

After a shower and a couple - well, a few - cups of coffee, she was feeling almost human. And hungry. Time for a run to the grocery store, to stock up for the week ahead. She grabbed her list from the fridge, stuffed it into her pocket, and headed out the door. It wasn't far, she wasn't buying much, she'd walk.

She stood in the frozen aisle, debating throw-in-the-oven easy choices to have on hand for when she felt really exhausted. She grabbed a variety of easy-prep entrees, tossed them into the basket on her arm and rushed down the aisle, around the corner and into a human wall. Several items hit the floor, their frozen surface letting them skid away a short distance as she righted herself, the timbre of the voice saying, "Oh, shit, I'm sorry," halting her in her tracks.

"Dean," she breathed, and looked up into his moss green eyes, shock on his face as he simultaneously whispered, "Rusty?" She stood, speechless, her mouth open for a moment before dropping the basket where she stood, gaining speed as she rushed out of the store.

Dean called her name, stepping over her spilled groceries and hurrying after her, getting to the door in time to see her running down the sidewalk. He didn't call out, just followed behind her, leaving the car in front of the store. She turned a corner, and he jogged a few steps, not wanting to lose her, barely catching a glimpse of her ducking into the office of a little motel about halfway down the block.

He debated with himself for a moment, then whispered, "Fuck it," under his breath and took off, entering the door he'd seen her go into a few seconds before. She stood there, breathing hard, looking at him like a deer in the headlights before turning and walking away, throwing open a door to a connecting apartment, with him close on her heels, catching the door with one hand as she tried to slam it shut, then forcing his way through and closing it behind him.

"Why are you following me? Did you actually track me here? What the hell, Dean?" Rusty's eyes sparked with anger as she stared wide-eyed at him.

He glared back at her, breathing hard from the run, his brows furrowed in an angry frown. "Whoa, princess! I didn't track you here. I wasn't following you. I'm up here at the cabin, we've been coming up here for years. I had no idea you were here."

"Just fucking great. I pick a completely random place to get away from you, and you have a fucking cabin here?" She ran her fingers roughly through her curls, shoving them behind her ear. "Damn it!"

"You wanna tell me why you're so fucking pissed at me?" He was still frowning, but there was a faraway shadow of hurt in the depths of his eyes, and she couldn't bear to look at it. She turned away, arms folded tight around herself, unable to find any words. After a long moment of awkward silence, she heard him let out a harsh sigh. "Yeah. Well. Guess I'll see you around."

"Dean..." The ragged whisper tore itself from her throat, too late, after the door closed with a quiet click behind him.

The next few days were hell. She didn't know whether she was more afraid she'd see him or that she wouldn't. Everywhere she went, which wasn't far, she listened for the sound of the Impala, watched for the gleaming black surface around every corner. Her dreams were haunted by him, his manner cold and angry. Although that was better than the dreams that awakened her, trembling with desire, the memory of his touch on her skin, his lips, his weight on her as he thrust into her... Those were the dreams that drove her from the bed, all thoughts of sleep abandoned.

Dean channeled his emotions - emotions he was too stubborn to name - into the cabin, tearing into the roof repair, and at the end of the third day, he was close to being finished. Finally done with everything but the shingles, he climbed down, dragging a forearm over his forehead to wipe the sweat from his brow. At least he had managed to keep himself exhausted enough that he was able to sleep.

He grabbed a cold longneck from the fridge and headed out to his favorite spot on the deck, the light breeze cool on his sweat-damp skin. He still couldn't figure out what the hell he had done, why Rusty was so damn mad at him. It couldn't still be that night at the bar… He stared out at the beautiful scene before him, not seeing any of it as his mind drifted back.

* * *

" _That hunt was a pain in the ass," Dean griped as they made their way into the bunker. "I say we need a night out. Don't be such a fucking killjoy all the time, Sam."_

" _I'd think you'd maybe want to get a good night's sleep under your belt before you drink yourself into oblivion. But whatever, you wanna go out, we'll go out."_

_They tromped into the bunker from the garage, and Dean bellowed out Rusty's name as they entered. "Hey, Rusty. Get yourself dolled up, we're going out tonight. My treat."_

" _What are we celebrating?" she asked as she walked into the room, barefoot and dressed in her favorite pair of comfy, torn-up jeans with an oversized old sweater over the top._

" _We're not. Dean just wants to get wasted because this hunt was a mess. So come with, help me pour him home later tonight."_

_She smiled. "Okay, okay... I'll keep you company, Sam."_

_And it started out to be fun. They all got a little tipsy, laughed at each other's dumb jokes, shoved each other in the shoulder, acted like kids. And Dean got friendlier as the night went on, his inhibitions disappearing more with each beer, each shot. Rusty felt warm and a little dizzy, and Dean flopping his arm behind her on her chair didn't help. Neither did the looks she kept intercepting from him, his eyes lingering on her lips as his fingertips absently traced patterns on her arm._

_Sam got up play pool, and Dean looked down at her, meeting her gaze, her feelings shining in her amber eyes. The filter she always had in place, her defenses against him, her determination not to let him see how she felt had all crumbled from the effects of the alcohol, the effects of being so near him, the effects of his touch. And when she leaned in to kiss him, brushing her lips across his lightly, he responded for one moment before he backed away, his tongue running over his lips, not even able to meet her eyes. "I'm – I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry, Rusty." Then, before she could react, he was gone. When Sam returned, she was sitting at the table alone, staring into her drink, waving the waitress over to order a double._

" _You think that's a good idea?" Sam asked, chuckling, the sound dying in his throat as she looked up and he saw the desolation in her eyes. "Whoa, Red, are you okay?"_

" _I'm fine. Just wanna get drunk, is that okay?" She glared at him for a second before draining her glass, and his brows raised a little as he nodded._

" _Sure. I guess so." Glancing around the room, he found his brother talking to a brunette in a corner booth. "Look, Rusty, if you want to go..."_

" _Said I wanna get drunk, okay, Sam?" She downed the two shots in front of her, waving the waitress over to order more._

_Sam finally shut her off, her words were slurring and her reflexes would have been comedic if he wasn't aware of her state of mind. He grumbled, "Stay here," as he rose to his feet, making his way back to the booth where Dean sat with that brunette's tongue down his throat. "Dean." He stood there, looking down at them until they stopped and Dean looked up into Sam's angry face. "I'm taking Rusty home. She's tanked. Are you coming?"_

" _Not yet," Dean said with a smirk, and the lewd, shrill giggle his companion responded with made Sam want to slam her head into the table._

" _God, you're an asshole. Get your own ride home, then." Sam turned to leave, almost crashing into Rusty, who stood weaving unsteadily behind him. "Come on, Red. Let's get you home."_

_She jerked her arm away from Sam, aiming her parting shot with sarcastic accuracy. "Glad you found somebody worthy of those electric lips, you fucking dick." She stared at Dean long enough to watch all his amusement at his own joke fade, his expression turning to stone as he looked into her eyes. Then he dropped his gaze as she turned and made her way, surprisingly steady, to the exit. Sam fired one more visual dagger his way before going out behind her, leaving him staring after them._

_The woman next to him giggled softly. "What a bitch."_

" _Shut up." Dean turned away from her, his arms on the table, his jaw working._

" _Aww, come on... you were coming to my place, remember? Who needs bitchy girlfriend when you've got me to play with?" She was slipping her hand up his thigh, but her smile disappeared quickly as she felt a grip of steel on her fingers._

" _I said, shut up." Dean tossed her hand away contemptuously, and her face contorted in anger._

" _Well, fuck you, then." She was gone in a flurry of smeared makeup and too much perfume, and Dean waved at the waitress._

" _Jack. Bring the bottle," he growled, staring at the table, fully intending to get himself numb enough not to think._

* * *

Dean sighed at the memory, feeling just as low as he had that night. He had been a fucking dick. He had done it purposely, telling himself it was for the best. Rusty was better off without him. And he couldn't afford to let the feelings he had for her get free. The intensity of it all just scared the shit out of him, and he couldn't – wouldn't – let it happen. For her sake, and for his. She was a friend, a part of their family now, and that would just end up a hell of a mess.

He had gone home the next day, and apologized. And he and Rusty had talked, but not about anything behind each of their hastily repaired walls. Just 'Hey, sorry I was such a dick, I was so drunk and such a moron' and "Yeah, me too, we can't do that again.' Then, 'Our friendship is too important to let something this stupid come between us.' And a hug, neither able to see the pain on the other's face. Like a bandaid on a broken bone, it'll all be better in the morning, go on as if nothing happened.

Two weeks later, he came home from a hunt to find out she had gone. Now he knew, from her own lips, that she had run because of him, trying to get away from him. And now he realized, more than ever, that having her near had been better than nothing at all.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean stood, hands on his hips, looking up at the roof. The shingles were finally in place and the new ceiling was up in the main room of the cabin. At least the place wasn't falling down around his ears any more.

He grabbed his cell from his pocket as it rang, looking to see that it was Sam and swiping his finger over the screen to answer. "Hey, Sammy."

"Dean, how's it going up there?"

"Well, the roof's fixed. So at least the place won't completely collapse before we come up here again. If we come up here again."

On the other end of the call, Sam furrowed his brow in confusion. "Why wouldn't we? We usually go up there fishing at least once a year. It's just that the last two or three…"

"Were fucked up beyond belief? Yeah. And now I've got trouble with a local."

"What? Who'd you get into it with? We don't know anybody up there."

"There's where you're wrong."

Sam sat up straighter in his chair. "Dean, what the hell are you talking about?" He heard the sounds of the refrigerator opening, the soft whoosh of a beer cap being removed, and Dean plopping down on some piece of furniture.

"Rusty's in Whitefish."

"You're kidding."

"Not kidding."

"Oh, shit. What happened, Dean?"

* * *

Rusty jumped a foot when her phone rang, and she stared at it for a few seconds before reaching for it. She looked at the screen hesitantly, then closed her eyes and answered. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey, yourself, Red. Heard you ran into an old friend the other day." He heard her take a deep breath and exhale, and he shook his head. "Rusty, what the hell?"

"I thought he followed me up here. How was I supposed to know? He took me by surprise, I just… This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to have a few weeks, or months maybe, to clear my head. I wasn't prepared to run into him, Sam. I didn't even know what to say. So I just – yelled."

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, weighing his words before speaking softly. "Rusty, you know we have a cabin up there, right? It belonged to an old friend, we've had it for years. Dean had no idea you were there, he went up there to clear his head. He misses you, Red. For that matter, so do I."

He heard her take a wavering breath, exhaling slowly. "I know. And I miss you, both of you." There was another long silence, long enough that Sam thought she wasn't going to speak again, but she finally went on. "I just – I can't be around him, all day, every day, working with him, bandaging his wounds, hearing him laugh, listening to his voice. If I'm around him, I want more, and I can't have it. He won't allow us to have it. I can't live like that anymore, Sam."

Sam was quiet for a moment before responding, understanding and gentle as Sam had always been with her when she needed it. "I know. But… Rusty, I think you should tell him how you feel. What if he does feel the same way, and you just never pushed him to admit it? What if you waste weeks and days and years that you could be together?" She didn't answer, so he continued. "I don't know how he feels, I just know he feels strongly about you. Maybe it is just the love of a friend, maybe it's more than that and he's just as scared as you are. I don't know, Red, but I do know that the only way you'll find out is if you talk to him. Tell him the truth, and then you'll know. Then maybe you can both move on, together or apart."

He waited patiently, and barely heard her when she answered. "Okay, Sam. Maybe you're right."

"Of course I am." She could hear his smile even over the phone. "Just remember, I'm here if you need me. Now, here's how you get to the cabin…"

Rusty scribbled down his directions, chewing on her lip as she tried not to think about the 'what ifs,' the 'maybes.' "Thanks, Sam." She ended the call and stood there for a few moments, debating within herself, before pocketing her phone and heading out the door.

* * *

Dean climbed out of the shower, finger-combing his hair and pulling on a pair of grey sweats before hooking his fingers around his beer and heading to the deck. The sun felt good on his skin, and he laid his head against the back of the chair, his eyes closed to the glare. The heat was soothing to his tired, sore muscles, the hard work from the last couple of days starting to catch up with him. He almost dozed off, caught himself and set his beer down, settling back into the chair, when the sound of a car coming into the drive changed his plan for a nap.

He frowned a little, wondering who had wandered into the wrong place, unfolding himself smoothly and walking barefoot across the deck to the rail at the side where he could see the front of the cabin if he leaned over a bit. His eyes widened a little as Rusty's Charger pulled in beside the Impala, and she spied him leaning on the rail as she got out of the car.

"Come on through, help yourself to a beer," he called out, and she nodded, heading towards the front door. He grabbed his beer, then leaned back on the rail, one arm resting there while the other dangled the bottle at his side. She came through the door, a little hesitant, her lip between her teeth for a moment before she opened her beer and took a swallow. "How'd you know…"

"How to get here? Sam," she answered before he finished the question. "He said… He thought we should talk. That I should talk to you. You know, without the yelling."

"Hmmm." He drained his bottle, then stood looking at her, silent, waiting.

Rusty's heart was pounding in her chest, and having him stand there with no shirt on was not helping. How was she even supposed to start? It was hard to keep her eyes from roaming to where his sweats hung loosely at his hips, or to his bare feet, crossed at the ankles, and she raised the bottle to her lips again, taking a long, bolstering drink of the cold brew. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I yelled at you, I'm sorry I assumed the worst. I'm just – sorry."

"Yeah, well – I probably would have assumed that too, if I'd been in your place." He bit at his lip, then raised his eyes to meet hers again. "But why are you so pissed off at me, Rusty? Is it," he stopped, blowing out a breath as his gaze dropped to the deck again. "Are you still mad about the bar that night? I mean, I don't blame you, I was a dick…"

"No. Yes. I mean, that night was…" She trailed off, and a soft, "Fuck," under her breath made a crooked smile appear fleetingly on Dean's lips. "Okay." She set her beer down, leaning on the rail across from Dean, her arms folded over her chest. "I'm so done with pretending, with running away, with hiding how I feel. I love you, Dean. Not heart-fluttering, fainting away, high-school girl crush love. I fucking love you. With everything I've got. And that night, when I kissed you, and you responded by shoving that brunette bimbo in my face – that was either you telling me to fuck off, that you're not interested, or it was you running scared. And for the next few days, I tried to get back to where we had been before that, walking on eggshells around each other. But I just couldn't. I couldn't be around you every day knowing that you'd run away every time I smiled or let my feelings show the slightest little bit, knowing that I'd never have more with you than that. I couldn't stand it, Dean." Her voice cracked just a little, her eyes hazy with tears as she looked at him. He looked… well, he looked for all the world like a little boy, guilty and wanting to take back whatever he'd done to get himself in trouble, feeling bad over the hurt he'd caused. She took a shaky breath and forced herself to continue, stubbornly fighting to keep her lip from actually quivering. "So that's why I left. I knew I needed to get away, try to start a life without you. Because you wouldn't let me start one with you." She blinked hard, chasing her tears away and backhanding away one willful drop that forced its way free. She stared at him, his head hung down again, and she could see his chest rising and falling with the increase in his breathing. And when he raised his head, the green of his eyes clouded with his own anguish as he ran his tongue slowly over his lips, she felt it like a physical blow.

"I'm sorry." Rusty closed her eyes tight at his words, her jaw clenched, her fingernails digging into her own arms. "I just – I know it sucks. But I know you're better off without me, Rusty."

"Bullshit!" She glared at him, her lashes wet with the tears she was determined to keep at bay.

"Look at what happened to your family! And you – I brought you along on that hunt, I almost got you killed!"

"What happened to my family had nothing to do with you! My father helped a lot of hunters, Dean, and what happened to him and Bryce wasn't your fault. If you and Sam hadn't come, I'd be a vampire right now. Have you ever thought of that? I'd be a monster. You fucking saved me! And as for me getting hurt – nobody forced me to come along on that trip. I wanted to come along. I begged you." Dean's gaze was resolutely fixed on the deck near his feet, and she felt a surge of anger flow through her. "Look at me, goddammit!" His head snapped up, his jaw clenched, but he stared back at her defiantly. "I don't want to hear about how bad you are for me, how you'll get me hurt or killed, how everything that's wrong with the whole damn world is your fault. You look me in the eyes and tell me how you feel about me, Dean Winchester. You tell me you don't care about me, that you want me out of your life, and then I'll find a way to get on with mine. But you have to tell me, Dean. I'm not leaving until you do."

Now she was getting angry, and she took a couple of steps closer to him. "Sam said you miss me. Do you?"

"Yes!" He shouted the word, then clamped his lips together, tight with his growing temper, his eyes bright with the effort to keep himself in check.

"Good." She moved closer still, within arm's reach, then stopped, refusing to look away from his heated glare. "Do you miss me, like, 'Hey, let's hang out and have a few laughs,' or 'Damn, I'd love to kiss you?'" She watched him turn his face from her, the muscle in his jaw working, and she stepped up to him, her body almost touching his, her hands at her sides. "I'm afraid you're gonna have to look me in the eye and tell me that you want me gone, Dean."

The very air around them was thrumming with tension, and Rusty steeled herself, refusing to move away, to look away. She could see the pulse in his neck, could see his chest rising and falling with his agitation, and her hands were itching to touch him, but she stood her ground. She felt her knees weaken a little as he turned his face back towards her, his expression almost making her take a step back. He leaned his head down slightly, touching his forehead to hers, and she could feel his breath hitch just a little before he spoke, the naked want in his voice shaking her to her core. "Damn, I'd love to kiss you."

She bit her lip, hard, making herself stand still before him. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." This time it was almost a growl, his teeth clenched together, and she felt a shiver go through her.

"Well, then – do it," she whispered, and as if a barrier had suddenly disappeared from between them, they were on each other, fingers grasping, lips hungrily seeking. They stumbled over each other into the house, Rusty's clothes discarded in a trail to the bedroom, Dean's sweats in a pile at the foot of the bed as he crawled up over her. They ravished each other, a flurry of hands and mouths, soft curses and moans, their need for each other making them almost reckless.

There was no preamble, just Dean's hand between her thighs, a rasping curse at the welcome he found there, then sweet, slow penetration as they fit themselves together, two halves of a whole. Time stopped for an eternal second, their breathing stilled, their bodies trembling in anticipation before long-restrained emotion and desperate need set them in motion, straining and grasping, leaving bruises and marks on each other that would show for days.

They both slept for a time, sprawled over the bed and each other, until finally Rusty shivered violently and reached for the blankets they had kicked to the floor. "Hey, where you goin'?" Dean's voice was low, gravelly, his hand reaching for her and landing on her thigh as she stretched out to reach the covers.

"Nowhere. I was just cold," she answered, cuddling up to him as she gathered the warmth around them.

"Good. You're not leaving again, okay?" He pulled back from her a little, his hair ruffled and his eyes still heavy-lidded and dark from sleep. "I mean it, Rusty. I want you to quit that job, come back home with me. Where you belong."

"Where I belong? Like this? In your bed? By your side?" She looked up at him, a vulnerability in her tawny gaze that made him pull her close, his arms tight around her.

"Yeah, Red. By my side, in my bed, in my life." He moved a hand to her face, tilting her chin until he could kiss her lips, a gentle caress, his arm tightening around her as her tongue brushed over his lips and their kiss deepened. He let his fingertips trail over her jaw, down her throat and further, causing her to inhale sharply as they teased at her nipple. She moved her hand down his body, her nails skimming his skin lightly, and she hummed as she found him, rapidly hardening, curving up towards her touch. He backed away from their kiss, hissing between his teeth as she put a hand on his chest, urging him to his back as she kissed his neck, her hand gently coaxing him to full hardness.

His head reared back, his hips raising off the bed a little as she bent to flick her tongue over his nipple, and she smiled a little at his muffled curse. His fingers tangled themselves in her hair as she worked her way down, nipping at his hip bone, then leaning over to lick a slow drag over him, root to tip, moaning softly at the flavor of his arousal. She tasted every rise, every hollow, teasing at him until his grip on her hair tightened, the muscles of his thighs tense.

He was almost writhing beneath her when she finally took his head into her mouth, running her tongue around and over the smooth heat of him, and she sucked gently as she took him in deeper with each pull. "Fuck, Rusty," he groaned from deep in his chest, fighting to control the urge to buck harder into the heavenly sensation. "Please… Come up here, I wanna be inside you so bad…"

She looked up at him from under her lashes, sucking hard as she slowly pulled back, and he held his breath, desperately battling the urge to come right then. Dean sat up as she moved away from him, pulling her close and crushing his lips down on hers, his fingers still tangled in her hair, his other hand kneading at her breast as she sighed into their kiss. He pulled her into his lap, and she straddled him, small, needy sounds escaping her as she ground down onto his rigid length. He pulled back from her, raising his hips a little to aid her in finding the friction she craved. "You're so ready for me, aren't you, baby?" he whispered into her ear, nuzzling into her neck as she whimpered, pressing herself closer.

"Please, Dean," she whined softly, and he lifted her as she helped guide him home. He held her tight, keeping her still while she pulsed around him, holding her breath for a moment at the sensations, the size and length of him filling her. When she finally shifted, her fingers digging into his shoulders for support, they both moaned, low and guttural.

He moved his hips slowly, a sensual, rhythmic roll that had her digging her nails into his skin, and he reached down between them to touch her clit, sending liquid fire through her veins. She quaked above him and around him, and he groaned deep in his throat , holding her tight as she came apart. As her grip on him loosened, he laid back down, looking up at the blush and glow of her skin, her eyes slowly focusing on him as she returned to herself.

She trailed her fingers over his chest, down over his abdomen, and then placed them behind her, one on each of his muscular thighs as she began undulating on top of him, her eyes closing again from the intensity of pleasure as she ground herself down against him with each movement.

He reached up, the weight of her breasts in his hands as he brushed his thumbs over her sensitive nipples, a low grunt forced from him at her body's reaction, squeezing his cock tight within her walls. "You are so fucking beautiful," he said between clenched teeth, watching her blissful expression, the graceful rippling of her body as she gyrated herself gently, letting waves of intense pleasure wash over her. He held off as long as he could, wishing he could watch her, feel her around him, for hours, but his need was growing more desperate by the second. He pulled her down to himself, kissing her hard, nipping at her lip before flipping them over and hovering over her for a moment, staring down at her with a voracious hunger in his eyes. "Do you have any idea… how fucking crazy… you make me…" he managed, each few words punctuated by a barely controlled thrust, and she clamped her legs around his thighs, meeting each one.

"Maybe you should show me," she whispered, clamping down around him, a velvet vise that sent him over the edge. He lowered himself down, sucking and biting at her neck and shoulder, fucking into her so hard that it drove the breath from her lungs with each stroke, one hand digging her nails into his back as the other clutched at the sheets. He growled, long and low, as he came, and his throbbing heat inside her fired off her own explosion as she cried out to him, shuddering violently beneath him.

After a few moments he moved to her side, resting his head at her breast as she combed her fingers through his hair, cradling him close. He nuzzled at her nipple, sucking it gently into his warm mouth, sending another shudder through her as he chuckled softly, kissing the delicate nub before settling his head on her shoulder, his hand coming up to cup the other breast as she spoke softly. "So – by your side, in your bed, in your life."

"Yeah, Red. For what that's worth, I know it's not much – but I don't wanna live any more of whatever it is without you. So come home."

He dropped a kiss to her chest as her hand smoothed over his shoulder, down his bicep, and she smiled a little as he hugged her and flexed the muscle there. "Okay. I'll come home."


End file.
